Tuesday, December 13, 2005

"Who knows what the morn brings.
In a world, few hearts survive.
All I know is the way I feel.
Whether it's best bus, I keep it waiting.
The road is long, there are ticket checkers in our way.
But we wait at the steps every day.

Love lift us up where we belong,
where the conductors cry "Ticket please"

On a double decker high.
Love lift us up where we belong, far from the taxis.
We know, up where the clear morn wind blows.

Some hang on to hand rails,
travel their lives looking behind."
-- Po Stocker enroute to stock exchange.


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